


Maul the World Like a Carnival Bear Set Free

by ambitiousbutrubbish



Series: I Mean Joy [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Some Canon-Typical Violence, mostly about Krem and Dorian bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 03:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5274857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitiousbutrubbish/pseuds/ambitiousbutrubbish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krem meets the Iron Bull, meets the Chargers, comes under the employ of the Inquisition, and discovers why you should never meet the people you admire.</p><p>Or,</p><p>Krem and Dorian go from enemies to friends to brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maul the World Like a Carnival Bear Set Free

**Author's Note:**

> A character makes a joke about incest but there isn’t any, nor is there any suggestion of actual incest.
> 
> So much dialogue, which I’m quite uncomfortable with. Please, everyone, stop talking.
> 
> Sera says “arse” and so can I

Krem heard of Dorian Pavus long before he ever met him. The wild Magister’s son, found drunk out of his mind with a male prostitute in a run-down brothel not far from where Krem lived growing up. The incident was expertly covered up, but anyone who lived in the surrounding area had been treated to a front-row view of Dorian blasting his way through three of the soldiers sent to drag him back to Qarinus before they finally managed to get to him.

Krem had been too young to go and see the spectacle himself, but his parents had been there, and they were happy to speculate on the scandal. Krem only remembers wondering why Dorian had had to be dragged away like that, why an Altus wasn’t allowed to be wherever he wanted to be.

By the time Krem was old enough to properly understand Tevinter’s attitude towards alternate sexualities he had mostly forgotten about Dorian, preoccupied as he had been by his own questions and confusions. It was only after his father had sold himself into slavery to support his family and his mother had tried to force him to marry some man for money that the memory of the runaway Altus came back to him unexpectedly. 

It was Dorian’s story that inspired him to run away and join the Imperial Army rather than live the life dictated to him, the life that told him that everything he wanted was wrong. If a spoiled Altus kid could defy social conventions and fight to live and love the way he truly wanted to, then Krem had known that he could too, that there was nothing the Alti class could do that he couldn’t do better.

Dorian Pavus had disappeared from the public eye years before. Some had said that he had been taken in as an apprentice by a Magister far from Minrathos. Others claimed that he had died in some backwater brothel from drugs or alcohol or at the end of the knife of a male lover. Most whispered that he had _been_ disappeared. 

Krem would rather have died than live a lie. He had hoped that Dorian had felt the same.

\--------------------

Krem had heard of the Chief long before he met him, too. Oh, not the Iron Bull exactly, but Tevinter propaganda claimed that all Qunari were the same - all mindless, unquestioning slaves to the Qun - and the army had only reiterated on that dehumanisation. It made them easier to kill, if you didn’t think of them as people, as individuals.

He had fled the army during the night, hoping to get out of Tevinter so that the officer in charge would decide not to bother about some deserter. But exhaustion and the dislocated thumb that had been a necessary sacrifice to escape the shackles the healer had chained him in had forced him to stop at a tavern still well within the Imperium’s borders just after midday.

He had not made it far enough.

The soldiers that had entered the tavern had spotted him immediately. Two unsheathed their swords, and the third pulled the flail out from the loop in his belt and Krem had suddenly noticed how quiet the tavern was, how empty, bar the frankly giant Qunari hunched over his mug in the corner. And he expected no help from him. 

The three men had approached him and Krem had tried desperately to come up with an escape strategy. But he had been outnumbered and unarmed and a moment ago he had seriously considered simply sleeping with his head resting on the sticky tavern table. He had known it was hopeless, but he had fought so hard and he couldn’t just give up. 

And then there had been a roar, and suddenly there had been one less soldier bearing down on him, and a thud as something heavy hit the back wall. The second soldier turned, distracted by the motion long enough that their attacker had had time to reach out and snap his neck with his bare hands. Unfortunately, the leader of the soldiers had either been better trained, or simply didn’t care what happened to his fellows, and he swung the flail above his head and straight down at Krem.

The blow had never landed, however. Krem’s defender had placed himself between them, and in his haste he had apparently misjudged the height of the swing and the flail connected hard with the side of his face. He had howled and stumbled back, hand over his eye, but the confusion was long enough that Krem had been able to get his hand on a knife and stab it in the third man’s throat. The leathers he had been wearing had allowed for faster riding, but did not offer enough protection from even a blunt blade.

Krem hadn’t even stopped long enough to hear the man’s dying breath bubble through the blood on his lips. Instead, he had stumbled as fast as he could towards the Qunari who had saved him. He was on his knees, one hand planted bracingly on the ground and the other still covering his eye, but he had still lifted his head and smiled at Krem through the blood dripping out from under his palm. “You alright, kid?” He had asked in passable but halting Tevene, and Krem didn’t know how to answer him, didn’t have time. Instead he had grabbed the Qunari’s wrist and yanked his hand away from his face.

Krem had seen worse injuries as a soldier, but the Qunari’s face had not been a pretty sight. Deep gashes ran from forehead to cheek where the flail had connected, but worse had been the thick, clear liquid mixing with the red blood from the hole where the man’s eye used to be, popped from the points of the flail. 

The extent of the injuries must have shown on his face, because the Qunari had stopped smiling. “It’s bad, isn’t it.”

Krem had swallowed audibly before answering. “I’m so sorry. The eye is gone.”

The Qunari had sighed and squeezed his remaining eye shut for a moment before he visibly composed himself. “Well, at least eyepatches look cool. Although I’ve been on Seheron for a while. People still think they’re hot, right?”

And then everything had caught up with Krem; his secret being exposed and his self-inflicted injury and his running and riding for over 12 hours and the fact that he hadn’t slept in over 24 and the fight and the giant Qunari joking about the attractiveness of eyepatches to cover the empty socket left by the eye he had lost defending him, _for him_ , and suddenly Krem had burst into laughter, his knees giving out as he had sunk slowly to the floor to just lie down next to his rescuer. 

“Hey, are you alright, kid?” The Qunari had asked again, and he had sounded concerned, which had made it all the more absurd; that his man was worried about Krem’s safety when he had literally just lost an eye. And Krem had laughed harder, and waved his hand in the air in what he had hoped was a vaguely affirmative manner. “Don’t pass out on me. Someone’s got to help stop the bleeding.”

“You’re a big guy. I’m sure you can stand to lose some.”

The Qunari had huffed at that. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” He had groaned a little as he levered himself down to lie on the dusty floor next to Krem. “We have time to get introductions out of the way, first. I’m the Iron Bull. The article is important.”

“Cremisius Acclasi. I’m very happy to meet you, the Iron Bull.”

Krem had reached across his body to offer his hand to shake in greeting, and it was only after the the Iron Bull took it to shake that he realised that it was the one slick with blood and eye gell, and he had wiped it on his pants before he rallied the last of his energy and pushed himself to his feet. “Now let’s get you something for your face.”

\--------------------

By the time the Iron Bull becomes the Chief, gathers the Chargers and is talked into letting the Inquisition hire them, Krem finds that he is very open to the idea that people will surprise you.

\--------------------

When Krem actually meets Dorian, he is disappointed. 

He barely even notices him at first, just another well-dressed guy trying to curry favour with the Herald. They’ve been seeing the type a lot, lately; men trying to take advantage of the Herald’s youth and lack of experience for political gain and influence. They never stay long. The charming ones recognise an exercise in pointlessness when they realise that it’s Josephine who manages the external dealings of the Inquisition. The more smarmy ones have a tendency to disappear unexpectedly during the night. 

This new guy, with his curled moustache and the way he’s keeping close to the Herald and speaking to her in low tones seems the smarmy type, and Krem doesn’t expect him to be around much longer, but he asks the Chief about him anyway. Always good to know who you’re dealing with. “A ‘Vint.” The Chief replies. “We met up with him in Redcliff. Mage. Saw him take out a bunch of demons by beating them with his staff rather than use magic. Definitely need to keep an eye on him. If he betrays us, he could be dangerous to the Boss. Looks like he comes from money, too, so maybe you might know something useful about him. He said his name was Dorian Pavus.”

Krem’s gaze shoots away from the Chief immediately. Dorian is nothing like he expected. When he had first heard about Dorian he had been a kid, and the image he constructed in his head had been a child’s understanding of what a rebel Altus should look like; wild and angry and dishevelled and always spoiling for a fight. He was loud and uncouth and he blasted spells first and asked questions later. As Krem got older, he didn’t spend as much time wondering what Dorian would look like, so much as how he must have been as a person, to defy convention the way he had and damn the consequences. How he must have been brave and angry and passionate, but at the same time lonely, isolated from the society he was raised in because he didn’t share their beliefs and refused to be silent about it. You heard about drunken Alti doing stupid things all the time if you had any interest in gossip, but you _never_ heard of them doing it outside of their own social class, and especially not in cheap brothels. Dorian must have been desperately alone.

The Dorian of now betrays nothing of his youthful indiscretions, of the conflict Krem had painted for him in his imaginings and then used to push his ultimate break for freedom. Everything about Dorian, from the way he sits astride his horse to the way he monopolises the Herald’s conversation - even though others who have known her longer are attempting to get her attention - to the way he _laughs_ \- loud and brash like he is the only one who understands the joke and wants everyone else to feel stupid for not getting it too - screams money and privilege. Now Krem is looking carefully, the clothes Dorian wares do seem a little dishevelled and worn, but he’s also been travelling for days, and the Chief did say he had fought demons. Maybe he had simply been rushed off before he had a chance to pack up all his fancy stuff.

\--------------------

Krem does as the Chief asked and watches Dorian closely over the next few weeks, and he is not impressed with what he sees. Dorian is never intentionally outright cruel, Krem doesn’t think, but he is casually dismissive of the people he doesn’t agree with in the same way that Krem has seen in the nobility all around Thedas that have been born into power and leadership. Dorian walks around Haven, eyes lined with kohl and robes seemingly melded to his body, with his staff slung openly across his back and not a hair out of place. As if the whispers and threats that follow him around do not bother him in the slightest. As perfect and composed as any other spoiled, stuck-up Altus that Krem had seen in Tevinter.

It’s his interactions with the Herald though that make Krem question whether there might in fact be two Dorian Pavus’. The Alti are big on legacy names, after all. The Herald seems to have taken quite a shine to Dorian, and every flirtatious remark she makes is responded to with a smile or a wink or a quip. And Krem can’t reconcile this man with the teenager who had drawn attention to his relationship with another man in a country openly intolerant of such things.

The Chief seems to have taken a liking to Dorian, or at least a liking to riling Dorian up. Every flirtatious remark the Herald makes, the Chief seems determined to do one better. But there are no smiles in return. In fact, Dorian seems committed to snapping every one of the worst kinds of stereotypes in response to anything the Chief says to him, no matter how innocuous. Admittedly, the Chief encourages it, pokes and prods at Dorian every chance he gets and grins in apparent delight every time Dorian takes the bait. He actually seems to _like_ it when Dorian sneers and snarls at him, which isn’t surprising, really, but _is_ something that Krem could’ve happily lived without ever knowing. 

But for all the Chief apparently thinks of Dorian’s antagonism as charming or at the very least amusing, it raises Krem’s hackles. 

\--------------------

There’s a trick Krem’s seen the Chief do a couple of times when he knows he’s being followed and stops finding it funny. He waits until nightfall, turns down a dark, deserted alley and then hides to ambush his pursuer once they follow after him. Krem tells himself that he didn’t notice Dorian pulling a similar trick because it was the middle of the day, but truthfully he had simply been complacent and hadn’t expected Dorian to be so sneaky. He should’ve known he would be. Upper class Tevinter was frequently rocked with assassinations, and Dorian would’ve been taught since childhood how to not become the victim of one. But Krem doesn’t think about that until he’s entered the alley Dorian turned down and suddenly it’s like he stepped from day to night.

It’s a display of magic of the kind that Krem hasn’t seen since he left the Imperium, and he’s stunned for just a moment, but a moment long enough that Dorian is able to press the blade at the end of his staff up against his neck. 

Krem has the brief thought to fight Dorian off, but he doesn’t want to spook him and have his throat cut for his trouble, so instead he stays perfectly still and waits for Dorian to make the first move.

“You’re one of the Iron Bull’s men, correct?” Krem would nod in reply if the blade wasn’t pressed so close to his skin, but Dorian doesn’t seem to be looking for an answer. “You may tell him that I have no intention of being converted, nor of allowing the conversion of the Herald or anyone here in Haven. Or perhaps I should send him your head, to make sure the message is clear.”

Silence suddenly stops being a smart option. “I am not a member of the Qun.” Krem replies, and his Tevene is rusty from disuse, but you never truly forget your mother tongue. 

Dorian stiffens, and Krem feels the blade knick his neck slightly before he replies. “A Tevinter national is not actually any better.”

“I am no national.” Krem replies. “I am a _defuga_ , and an unarmed _soporati_. I just want to talk to you.”

There is a brief moment of silence, and then the blade disappears from Krem’s throat and Dorian steps away. Another moment, and light floods back into the alleyway. Krem has to squeeze his eyes shut to adjust to the sudden brightness, and when he opens them again, he finds himself face to face with Dorian. Dorian doesn’t have a hair out of place. Nothing to show that he had just threatened decapitation and spent a large amount of magic. Nothing to betray him as not being completely calm. Except the small bead of blood slowly rolling down towards Krem’s collarbone, a testament that Dorian is not as in control as he would like to be. 

“Speak your piece.”

“I was too young to see it myself, but the show you put on outside that brothel in Minrathos was still the only interesting thing that had happened in the neighbourhood I grew up in by the time I left.” Krem begins, and he’s watching Dorian so closely that he sees the exact moment when Dorian’s aloof mask falls to be replaced with a kind of resigned fury.

“What do you want from me to keep that story quiet?”

Krem could laugh. He could run with the knowledge that he holds a secret an Altus doesn’t want public. He could demand payment. But Dorian did just threaten to kill him not a few minutes ago, and Krem is smart enough to know when not to press his luck.

“Nothing.” He replies instead. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. I just wanted to tell you that it was your actions then that eventually inspired me to get away from my own family who did not accept my gender identity and tried to force me to be someone I’m not.”

For a few seconds, Dorian looks absolutely floored; eyes wide and lips parted a little as he just _stares_ at Krem, and Krem thinks that he’s finally meeting the real Dorian, that he’s seeing the first honest reaction he’s ever seen on him. And then it’s all shuttered away.

“That was a bad time for me.” He replies, and his words come slowly, carefully chosen. “While I am glad that you are free from the people who tried to hurt you, you should not seek to emulate the teenaged me. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I got a lot of people hurt.” And suddenly the seriousness is sucked out of the air as Dorian finishes with a smile: “far better to admire me now. Now that I am so admirable.”

But Krem’s seen that smile drop, now. He knows that Dorian’s bravo is not a perfect shield. The question is; what to do with that knowledge? 

\--------------------

Dorian and the Chief have been sleeping together for weeks before Krem finds out.

It’s unusual, but not unprecedented, that it took so long for him to hear about it. The Chief likes to brag about sex, particularly sex with people who look like Dorian, but he’s also respectful of boundaries unless both parties agree they can be pushed.

It’s also unusual that it’s been going on so long. The Chief is not the love-em-and-leave-em type in the traditional sense. He’s always up for a round two or more if people want it, and he’s had lovers for longer periods of time than his current liaison with Dorian, but people are rarely up for more than one time with the Iron Bull.

But what is _surprising_ is now secretive Dorian is about it. 

If Krem had to guess at how Dorian would act in a relationship here in the South - away from prying, hateful Tevinter eyes and where same-sex relationships are not only allowed, but accepted as rote - he would have suggested “proud.” Perhaps “obnoxious.” At the very least, he would’ve expected Dorian to be open about it, and about his sexuality. If he had fought to be so in Tevinter, Krem would’ve thought he would have had no problem living the life he seemed to have desperately wanted here, where it was not frowned upon to have it.

The way Dorian flirted with the Inquisitor and Scout Harding and basically any other woman who worked up the nerve to actually speak to him should’ve been Krem’s first clue. He supposes Dorian could simply be bisexual, but it seems unlikely that he would have drawn attention to his being with another man if he had also desired women.

The second clue was written all over Dorian’s face the first time the Chief alludes to what the two of them get up to behind closed doors. The brief wide-eyed look of surprise when he gets called over to drink with the Chargers in the tavern, the way he looks around nervously before he accepts the seat the Chief pulls out for him next to him.

As the night drags on and Dorian drinks more ale he becomes less flighty, and even manages a chuckle at one of Stitches’ stories, but otherwise he stays quiet, and doesn’t move except to take a drink. 

Krem remembers that he had once thought that Dorian had been disappeared. He wonders what happened to him instead.

\--------------------

Ever since the first time he got one in his hand, Krem’s preferred method of dealing with problems has been to hit them with his maul until they go away. The army taught him basic strategy and he’s learned a lot more from the Chief, but all of that is the kind of knowledge you use in a fight, and he doesn’t want to fight Dorian. Except that he does. But he knows that he should talk to him first. 

Because the thing is, Krem sees the way that the Chief looks at Dorian. All soft and happy. The way he smiles at him and chuckles at his whining. Fond. The way he’s always looking out for him, always asking after him, bringing him food when he hasn’t been seen in the tavern for a while. The way he frets, whenever Dorian goes out with the Inquisitor without him, even though he knows Dorian can look after himself. Krem has picked up bits and pieces of the Qun since he fell in with the Chief, and he’s sure it would say that it’s useless to worry about a situation over which you have no control. 

And the way the Chief welcomes Dorian back from those trips, when there’s no one but the Chargers or the Inquisitor to see them; sometimes kisses, always hugs, tight, and the Chief squeezes his eye shut when he’s sure Dorian can’t see his expression. Lingering touches to Dorian’s arms and shoulders and face. Like he just wants to keep Dorian there beside him for as long as he can.

Krem doesn’t know how the Chief feels about Dorian. Not really. He’s not even sure the Chief really understands it. But what he does know is that when Dorian looks back at the Chief, it’s not in the same way. And Krem doesn’t know what’s at stake, but he’s not going to let Dorian hurt the Chief.

But Dorian does not take meekly to confrontation. Krem has seen more than a little evidence to the fact. On occasion the Inquisitor has been known to direct her more frustrating or doubting partitioners Dorian’s way, and Dorian appears to delight in running verbal circles around them. He’s also proven to not be above physical altercations if provoked, and while he has always kept his magic in check, his staff is not just for channeling Fade energy. The blade at the end is not just for show and threats in a dark alleys.

Dorian has a temper on him, and the skills to back it up, And while Krem is sure that it would be a fairly even fight if he matched up against him - so long as Dorian didn’t use any magic - he’d rather not risk one of them getting injured and then not being available for the Inquisition. 

So he waits for a night when Dorian retires to his own room rather than the Chief’s and then follows after. 

Dorian must have been aware that he was being followed, because the look of bored distain on his face when he swings open his door is dropped almost immediately for something far more neutral when he sees that it was Krem who knocked.

“Have you come to flatter me again? I’ll certainly welcome it. My talents and charm are sadly under-appreciated in this cultural wasteland.” Krem doesn’t say anything, and Dorian sighs audibly. “Out with it, then.”

“You know, when I was young, I thought you were different. Someone who really believed in changing things. And then I met you, and you weren’t anything like I imagined, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Did you know that there were rumours around Minrathos that your father finally got sick of your rebellions and had you disappeared? And when I met you I thought that must’ve been it. That something happened to you and you were covering up who you were so you wouldn’t get hurt again. But I was wrong. Because you’re just like the rest of them.”

Dorian’s face is still neutral, but he hasn’t made so much as a twitch, any move to defend himself or throw accusations back and Krem thinks that something that he’s saying must be hitting some mark. So he powers on.

“I’ve heard the Chief proposition people before, you know. I know how it goes. He always says that it’s okay if there’s nothing more between him and them than sex. I’ve heard him say that he prefers it that way. But I’m here to tell you that it’s not. It’s not okay what you’re doing. Because you’re using him. And I don’t know what for. Maybe it’s because you want to stick it to your daddy. Maybe it’s some fetish thing, the wild savage Qunari and all that. Maybe it’s just some intellectual experiment to you. I don’t care, but it needs to stop. Because I won’t stand for it, and the Chargers won’t stand for it. The Chief isn’t just some thing you can use and then ignore and throw away when you’re done with him. He’s not a prize that you can go home to your friends and brag about how you bagged a Qunari. He cares for you. He’s a person, and he deserves to be treated like one.”

Dorian doesn’t move a muscle while Krem talks, and he continues staring blankly when he finishes. Krem makes a disgusted noise and turns on his heel to leave. He’s gone three steps before Dorian finally speaks. “Come in, Cremisius. I want to tell you something.”

Krem almost ignores him, but there is something in Dorian’s voice, something defeated and vulnerable and almost tearful, and he has to see for himself what it is. 

Dorian’s room, like everything about Dorian, is not what Krem expected. The place is, frankly, a mess. Either Dorian refuses to use cupboards for their intended use or he simply doesn’t have one. His robes are instead draped over chairs or thrown in piles over the floor. There’s a small washbasin against one wall that is surrounded by jars and powders, Dorian’s makeup staining the inside a faintly shining deep bronze. And there are books stacked over much of the available surface, as if Dorian has been trying to move the Skyhold library into his room. Assumedly so that everyone else can’t touch the books with their unworthy hands. 

The only clear space is Dorian’s bed, and Krem sits himself upon it without asking permission.

Dorian doesn’t follow his lead, but walks over to one of the book stacks and fiddles with the top book, opening and closing the cover and picking a little where the corners have begun to wear. He doesn’t look like Krem has ever seen him. He looks, honestly, scared. Like a breeze could break him, and Krem is tempted to try.

But Dorian speaks first. “I stand before you, so obviously the rumours that I had been murdered were untrue. However, they were not entirely unfounded. I–. My mother can’t have any more children, you see. Even if she could, she and my father hate each other so much that I believe that she would lie just so she would never have to touch him again. I am all my father has to continue the Pavus legacy, and so I was too important to his inheritance plans to be disposed of. But my lover at the time had no such protections. It’s not surprising that his story became mine; he was not an Altus so no one cared about him except myself and Felix. But his name was Rilienus, and when my father demanded that I give up on any notions I had of publicly acknowledging him, I refused. I wanted everyone to know about the two of us, how happy we were together. I was young and naive and stupid and I should have known better but I just kept pushing and pushing to be accepted the way that I am and Rilienus–. My father had him killed, I’m sure of it. I never saw a body, but my father asked after him one morning and he was smiling as he said his name and I just _knew_. I knew what he had done. It should have been a warning, but I didn’t see it and I locked myself in my room and refused to come out for days.”

Krem doesn’t know if Dorian notices, but he’s started crying, silent tears that stream steadily down his face, eyes rimmed with red instead of the usual dark kohl. 

“By the time I decided on a plan for revenge, I discovered that I _couldn’t_ leave my quarters, that my father had painted magic nullifying glyphs on the doors and windows. He kept me locked in there for months. No company except my books. Slaves came in while I slept and left food. One week I tried to refuse eating, but my father sent in his soldiers and they forced me to eat. I tried not sleeping, too, but I soon became weak without food and couldn’t manage that for long. At one point I considered lighting the room on fire and burning with it, but I knew my father would simply put out the flames and I would be left in a burnt room with only half the books I had left. There are long stretches of time that I don’t remember, and even longer that I would rather not. It’s frightening, the tricks your mind will play on you when you’re all alone. But one day I heard voices that were coming from outside my room, not in my head or from the demons in my dreams.”

“I don’t know what is known of the Magisterium outside of the Alti, but my father has always been opposed to returning the Imperium to the way it was before it collapsed. He believes in looking forward, not backwards. He spoke out particularly against blood magic. ‘The resort of the weak-minded’, he called it. He taught me that there was always a smarter, better way to achieve your goals. But apparently, that was not true when faced with the prospect of having a gay son who refused to hide it. I will spare you the details, but suffice to say that my father tried to change me using blood magic; that he would rather betray his ideals and risk having an empty shell for a son than having me.”

Dorian finishes on a choked off note and finally notice his tears. Krem takes the moment that Dorian spends scrubbing furiously at his eyes to stare open-mouthed at him. He had no idea. Dorian has always seemed guarded and standoff-ish behind his smiles and his charms, but nothing about him suggested something like _that_. “You’re actually the first person besides Felix that I’ve told that story to.” 

And Krem has to say _something_. “No one here is going to hurt you for liking men.”

Dorian laughs then, and it’s bitter and wet and just a bit mocking. “It’s not about me, don’t you see? It’s about _them_.” Dorian pauses for a moment, and then sits down on the bed next to Krem. Krem want to do something, wants to offer some kind of comfort, but he isn’t sure how.

The Chief is a hugger for all occasions; from happy to sad and everything in between. But Krem isn’t and any attempts now would likely be awkward at best. People don’t really come to him for comfort, but he has seen others offer it. Sometimes they hold hands, or give some other sign of their physical presence. But he and Dorian do not know each other well enough for that kind of physical contact, not by Tevinter standards, and Krem doesn’t want to make a wrong move now and scare Dorian off. 

Instead he stays quiet and he listens. If Dorian needs this to be heard, than Krem will hear it. 

“It’s about Rilienus and Bull. And it’s about the Inquisitor and Sea and Cole and the Chargers and everyone that I care about. I don’t care what people think about me, or what they threaten to do to me. I’m used to it. I’ve heard it all. I care about them. Do you think I don’t hear what people say about me behind my back? What they whisper to each other? That I’m a spy. That I’m controlling the Inquisitor with blood magic. They say it to my face, too. I hear all of it. And I’d have to be blind not to see the way they sneer at me. My father killed my lover because he did not approve if my choices. Do you think the people here will be any kinder?”

Krem does, actually. Or, he doesn’t, but he thinks that Dorian has more friends in Skyhold than he realises. People would look out for him. But he’s once bitten, and his reluctance to try again is certainly not unreasonable.

“The people of Skyhold like Bull. He’s Qunari, but he’s friendly and affable and he always laughs loudly. And we both know that he plays dumb to get people to trust him. But how do you think they will feel if they find out about us? How happy to see him do you think they’ll be if they think he’s been corrupted or controlled by the evil ‘Vint Magister?”

And truthfully, _that_ is absolutely something to consider. Krem hears things. He’s just a mercenary, so people don’t worry about talking in front of him. He’s heard the whisperings about the Inquisitor, how she’s being controlled by blood magic, how Dorian is manipulating her to reestablish the old Tevinter Imperium. How they should do something about her now, before it’s too late. But she’s the Inquisitor, and the Herald of Andraste, and no one dares risk making that move. The Chief doesn’t have the same political or theological protections. Once they stop seeing him as the nice Qunari, once he’s _the Magister’s _Qunari, then he’s just another enemy. Someone to be dealt with swiftly for the benefit of Thedas.__

__“You’re right, thinking that Bull told me that it could be nothing but sex between the two of us, if that’s what I wanted. The first time, he told me that everything that would happen was up to me, and every time I’ve asked him what he wants he tells me it’s not important, because what _he wants_ doesn’t matter. You probably don’t want to hear this, but he says he _likes_ it when he’s treated like a thing, and not like a person. But what _I want_ is to make him happy. I want to do right by him. But I don’t know if I can. I do ignore him sometimes, and I do not treat him as well as he deserves in public. And I know that I can be rude and dismissive and arrogant and everything you could accuse me of. But it’s because I’m afraid that they’ll hurt him, once they know about us. I hurt people. I hurt everyone I touch, and I’ve touched Bull more than I have anyone in a long, long while. I’m afraid that they’ll hurt him, once they know that I care for him, too.”_ _

__Krem puts his hand on Dorian’s shoulder and Dorian slumps, minutely, towards Krem’s space. They sit together well into the night._ _

__\--------------------_ _

__Krem gives it three days before he officially starts to worry about the Chief. Something went wrong on the Storm Coast. No one has seen fit to tell them exactly _what_ , yet, but they had left in a hurry with no new Qunari and the flaming wreckage of the dreadnaught still smoking where it had washed up on the shore, so Krem thinks he can safely assume that the alliance with the Qun did not eventuate._ _

__And then the Chief had disappeared halfway through their “we survived” party, and he hasn’t been seen since._ _

__By the second day the Chargers started to get restless. Then someone had suggested that maybe the Chief and Dorian were just _celebrating_ , and that if they weren’t reminded of the need to eat and sleep they might die of over-exertion. Skinner and Rocky had joked the whole way to the Chief’s room and at one point Krem rolled his eyes so hard they hurt, but when they knocked no one answered. Dorian opened the door to his room, though, and while he smiled at seeing them, it was immediately obvious how forced it was. _ _

__“I truly am sorry, but Bull is sleeping at the moment, and I’d rather not wake him. Would you like to leave a message with me?” Skinner and Rocky look at Krem in confusion, and it’s up to him to come up with an explanation as to why the three of them are giggling on Dorian’s doorstep in the middle of the day._ _

__Over the next two days, every time they knock on the Chief’s door no one answers, and every time they knock on Dorian’s, he tells them the Chief can’t talk right now. His smiles are never any less fake then they were the first time. The fifth day Dalish sees Dorian in the kitchens and runs to tell the rest of them. Skinner tries to break in while Dorian is busy, but as soon as she gets her lockpicks in the lock they turn white hot and she lets go with a loud curse and they can only watch as they melt, dripping slowly to the ground._ _

__By the end of the week, even Grim is making worried sounds. The Chief has disappeared with lovers for hours, sometimes even days, but never anything like this. Never anything like this silence. Sitting around the Chargers table that night is a subdued affair._ _

__“It’s not that I don’t trust Dorian,” Krem overhears Stitches saying, “I actually kind of like him. But I’m worried about the Chief.” Krem can do nothing but agree. Dorian, he thinks, would be the last person to deliberately hurt the Chief. But still, the Chief is not acting like himself. He’s a few seconds away from suggesting they all get together and just barge passed Dorian in his doorway when the door to the tavern swings open, and Dorian and the Chief step through._ _

__They’re holding hands._ _

__Any other time, Krem would have teased. The Chief likes public displays of affection: a smack on the arse when passing by, a deep, dirty kiss when people were looking. He likes to pull giggling barmaids into his lap and tell bawdy, boastful stories. Handholding isn’t really in his repertoire._ _

__Except that apparently it is, and Krem would tease if not for the way the Chief looks straight ahead at the Chargers table without acknowledging anyone else in the tavern. If not for Dorian’s white-knuckled grip on the Chief’s hand, the look in his eyes as they dart around the room that dare anybody to say anything . If not for the way that the tavern falls silent around them as they walk through._ _

__Krem waits until they’re almost with them and then pulls out the chair next to him for Dorian to sink into. When the Chief takes his seat he lets go of Dorian’s hand, but he sits close enough that Dorian’s shoulder is mere centimetres from touching his arm._ _

__For the rest of the night the Chief is as jovial as if he hasn’t been unreachable for the past week. And if his laughter is a little louder than usual, a little forced, then the Chargers are tactful enough not to mention it. Dorian, on the other hand, is as silent as he was the first night he joined the Chargers for a drink. Over time he has become more comfortable making jokes and telling stories, but it seems his walk across the tavern is as bold a move as he can make in one night. He keep his head down and his mouth shut, and spends the night tensed, anticipating an attack._ _

__Krem is sitting right next to him, so he can see the way the Chief keeps one hand on Dorian’s leg the whole night. He doesn’t think it’s a comfort thing. At least, not comfort for Dorian._ _

__\--------------------_ _

__The whispers start the very next day, and they’re worse than Dorian in all his pessimism had predicted. Krem spends more than one night camped out in front of the Chief’s room, even though he knows the two of them can look after themselves. It probably doesn’t help that the Chief disappeared for so long and then reappeared with Dorian by his side, but the whispers are more than worrying. The underlying theme appears to be that Dorian is a blood mage who has enthralled the Chief to be his mindless killing machine; although how powerful Dorian is and how mindless the Chief was beforehand differs with each telling._ _

__Regardless, Krem finds himself getting into a lot of fights to defend Dorian’s integrity. He never thought he would be fighting for an Altus. In the army, he always thought he’d die for one because of a stupid order from a kid who got promoted because of who his father was, but he never thought he’d be getting hurt for one because he _liked_ him and wanted to defend him._ _

__The thing is, Krem thinks that Dorian and the Chief are playing a very dangerous game. That one day, someone is going to follow through with their threats and go after them. Dorian is so scared of that happening that he would rather continue to lie and hide and deny feeling anything then risk it. And he has come so far, Krem would hate for him to lose what progress he has made because of some idiot. And the Chief would only make it worse, kill the attacker and prove to the others that he really is murderous._ _

__And so it is that with a sigh of exasperation - at the Chief and Dorian bringing their relationship into the light, at himself for being seemingly unable to let a snide comment go by, at the _idiots_ who _continue_ to make asinine accusations and slurs - that Krem finds himself stopping abruptly in the courtyard when he hears a group of soldiers discussing “that blood mage Magister and the mindless beast he has as a slave.” _ _

__Krem breathes in and out slowly through his nose. There are eight soldiers. He closes his eyes and breathes again. He is hugely outnumbered and currently, stupidly it turns out, unarmed. He wishes he could just let it go, just keep walking. Tell Dorian and the Chief about it later. They’d laugh, he knows they would. They’d probably make some sex joke about it, which Krem would not want to hear, but he’d still laugh sarcastically. He can see it all._ _

__And then he turns to the group and calls out loud enough that he hopes someone else will hear to come and collect his sorry arse after the soldiers are done with him. “Hey! How about you stop gossiping and have the courage to say your backwater bullshit to someone’s face!”_ _

__When he was little, Krem’s father would take him to see the plays put on by street performers. When he got older, his mother forbade him from going, claiming they were too violent, so he had had to sneak out. Mostly the performers would juggle or sing or do acrobatics. However, sometimes they would put on plays, and Krem liked them best. They always told of someone winning despite the odds stacked against them because they were fighting for the right thing. Granted, they were very different from the plays in the South, the social situation being similarly dissimilar. A lot of them were about a Magister single-handedly quashing a slave rebellion, but the core message was the same: when you were Right you were stronger than those who were Wrong, and you would win no matter what._ _

__Unfortunately, real fighting is nothing like the plays, and while he manages to get a few good hits in, and he’s pretty sure he breaks one soldier’s nose, Krem is quickly overwhelmed by the uneven numbers. He gets kicked hard in the back of the knee and then in the stomach, and there’s really not a whole lot he can do except go down and hope the soldiers get bored of him._ _

__As his knees hit stone, Krem hears a whistle from behind him, shrill and loud and he knows immediately that it belongs to Grim. The man doesn’t talk much, but he could call all the mabari in Skyhold and the surrounding mountains to him with one whistle. Krem doesn’t turn, but the soldiers do stop to look up._ _

__“Why don’t we make this a fairer fight?’ Stitches calls, and the soldier who had kicked Krem’s leg out from under him takes a small rock to the side of his head and goes down hard._ _

__Krem doesn’t bother to stand. The fight will be over before he manages to stagger to his feet. Plus, his stomach hurts, and he’s pretty sure that if he stands up too fast he’s going to throw up. But as he watches the glee in Skinners face as she gets to lay into the last soldier standing and trying to flee, he knows that even if Dorian and the Chief are being risky putting it out there, he doesn’t care. Because the Chief is happy, and Dorian even managed a laugh the other day when Krem teased him, and Krem will keep getting beaten up by stupid soldiers who say stupid things if that’s what it takes to look out for them._ _

__They deserve to be happy._ _

__\--------------------_ _

__Krem doesn’t know what bet Dalish lost, but it must’ve been a big one. He’s sad that he missed it, honestly. But since it was clearly about him, it makes sense that he did._ _

__Dalish looks like she wishes she _did_ miss it._ _

__Skyhold has a lot of rooms, but for the most part they’re uninhabitable. Even the Chief’s room is a bit of a stretch with the hole in the roof, but Qunari run hotter than humans, so the wind that occasionally blows off the surrounding snow-caped mountains and straight into his room doesn’t overly bother him. Krem can’t help but wonder how Dorian can stand it, but he figures having magic is probably useful. As it stands, then, most members of the Inquisition have to share sleeping space. The core group of the Chargers have all bunked up together, except for Krem, who managed to use the fact that technically he is in charge of them to lever the one small spare room to himself._ _

__So it’s easy for Dalish to catch him alone by sneaking into his room while everyone else is sleeping. Krem was already awake and filling out a mission request for Josephine. He appreciates the tight ship that she runs. However, the way that Dalish’s face twists when she sees him makes him reasonably sure that she wishes he was asleep and she could just sneak out again._ _

__Instead, she sets her shoulders and everything comes tumbling out of her, as if she wants this conversation to be over as soon as possible. “We want to know what’s going on between you and Dorian. I know you and the Chief are friends, but he’ll kick your arse if he thinks you’re going after Dorian. Or worse, he’ll give him up without a fight. Either way, it’s not okay to try and steal your boss’ boyfriend, and they’re good together and you shouldn’t come between that.”_ _

__Krem is stunned into silence for long enough that Dalish begins to make uncomfortable twitches in the direction of the door. And then her words finally manage to register properly, and Krem bursts into laughter. Dalish scowls at him, but she makes no more moves to leave._ _

__Eventually, Krem’s laughter dies down. “Is that what you all –? I’m not interested in Dorian. Can’t a couple of ‘Vints be friendly? We’ve got to stick together. Reminisce about home and how awful it was.”_ _

__Dalish sits down on Krem’s bed which is squashed into a corner right next to his desk and Krem himself. “So what? Dorian’s like your brother now?”_ _

__Dorian is far from his brother. If nothing else, Tevinter hierarchy keeps them apart, and Dorian is completely unwilling to let go of his social status. Krem finds him haughty and condescending and full of himself. He wants to shove his face in some mud and mess up that mask of Altus perfection. He would also fight anyone who tried to hurt him. “I suppose that’s a fair analogy.”_ _

__Dalish looks thoughtful for a moment. “Hey. Remember that time you called the Chief dad?”_ _

__Krem splutters. “I never did! I called him _dator_. It means ‘patron’. He was paying me!”_ _

__“Of course. Because your language is always slipping.”_ _

__“Yes, well. Do you have a point?”_ _

__“It’s only –” Dalish grins, and it’s teetering on the edge of malicious. “Do you ever feel weird about Dorian and the Chief? I mean, it’s got to be basically some kind of pseudo-incest to you, right?”_ _

__Krem’s mouth drops open as that horrifying realisation washes over him._ _

__“Well, I will now.” He manages to choke out, and Dalish cackles to herself as she darts out of his room._ _

__\--------------------_ _

__Krem decides he’s going to return to Tevinter about two seconds after Dorian leaves Skyhold for good._ _

__It had never been part of his plan._ _

__When he’s feeling indulgent, Krem likes to imagine travelling and fighting with the Chargers until they’re all old and grey. Retiring somewhere, where they’re all near each other. Maybe some of them would get married, have a few kids. Krem could be their favourite uncle._ _

__More realistically, probably, he also imagines dying young in battle. He only hopes it’s for a good cause._ _

__He supposes he can manage that in Tevinter, too._ _

__Because the thing is, the Chief is not a crier, but it’s not like Krem has never seen it before. Usually for happy things. Cullen and the Inquisitor’s wedding. The day they defeated Corypheus. That time Rocky got stuck up a tree escaping from some bears._ _

__But never like this. Never these silent tears rolling down his cheek as he watches Dorian leave. Never the way his hand clutches desperately around the dragon tooth pendant he wears around his neck. Never the way he startles when the Inquisitor lays her hand on his arm, as if he had forgotten his company, alone in his grief._ _

__The Chief lost an eye for him. It’s only fair that Krem would sacrifice whatever he had hoped for for the future in return._ _

__Even though Dorian is still kind of an arse. Even though his parting words to Krem had been nothing but a long compliment to himself: “Don’t pine overmuch. I know you’ll never meet anyone as handsome as me ever again. Or as charming. Nor anyone as inspiring. But my presence will be a memory and a comfort for many years to come.” Despite all that, he’s an arse who tries to do the right thing, who’s going to try to fix Tevinter. And even if he thinks it’s a fools errand - that Dorian is just going to crash and burn and risk his life every day for no gain - Krem does actually want to be there to see it._ _

__Besides, he thinks as he watches the Chief absently brush off the Inquisitor to stare blankly off into the distance; Dorian seems disinclined to do it, so _someone_ has to protect the Chief’s heart. _ _

__Krem’s decision must be written all over his face, because when the Chief finally looks away from the gate Dorian left through and catches Krem’s eyes, he nods once, firmly, and makes his way over to stand in front of him. “Dorian’s a good horseman. You’re going to have to ride fast to catch him. I’ll tell the boys you went.”_ _

__Krem hates goodbyes. The only one he’s ever said was to his father. He would’ve liked to have said one to the Chargers, too. But the Chief is right. “That’s alright. I wouldn’t have wanted Dorian’s big farewell, anyway.”_ _

__“What? You don’t want me to kiss you? Are you sure?”_ _

__Krem laughs and it’s a little watery, and he’s horrified with himself. His grimace is extra forced. “Look after yourself, Chief.”_ _

__“You too, Krem._ _

__They hug instead, tightly, before the Chief walks away, and Krem is left standing alone in the courtyard._ _

__He thinks briefly about packing a bag, and then decides against it. It would take too long. Besides, he thinks as he’s saddling his horse and strapping up his maul, Dorian’s going to be seen around him a lot in the future. He’ll probably buy him a brand new wardrobe._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Krem is about one step away from that cliche of sighing “I wish you hadn’t said that” before punching a dude in the face.
> 
> Okay so, random Rilienus thoughts since he is vaguely mentioned here. Basically, in my head, Rilienus was not an Altus. What social class he was a part of is not ultimately as important as the fact that his family had little-to-no money and influence. The question that Dorian didn’t ask was not directed at Rilienus, but rather at Halward. It was a thought that he had had one night, tipsy and despairing and bitter, and he had wondered if his father would leave them alone if Rilienus was a body slave, rather than a free man. Obviously Dorian would never have gone through with it, but he doesn’t believe he is capable of resisting temptation, and especially not when the temptation promises him something he wants as desperately as to be allowed to be with a man that he loves. And so he is glad that he never found out that he answer would’ve been “yes”.
> 
> Not really necessary for my overall story I’ll admit, but vaguely relevant nonetheless. 
> 
> Also, Krem is inspired by Dorian and not Maevius because all her scandals were kept quiet outside of the Altus class. Dorian is just special because it happened in Krem’s own backyard.


End file.
